He wiped his hands on his breeches and ripped open the correspondence with one finger. The first page was a lot of womanish gossip and dull details about how the servants had aired out the country house. On the next page, however, he stopped. He had to read one line again.
“I do hope you reconcile with your family, dear Mark. We’d love to have the duke and duchess for Christmas dinner in Sussex.”
He’d read it three times before the import of the words sank in. Lady Whitby knew who his uncle was. Knew it and mentioned it casually in a letter as if she and Nicole had discussed it before. They must have. Which meant …
Nicole knew too.
All the breath left his lungs as if someone had jabbed a fist through his middle. Suddenly it made sense to him, why a countess had agreed for her only daughter to marry a seeming no one in the army. The dowager countess had assured him they expected him to do great things one day, but it hadn’t been that at all. They hadn’t had faith in him. They’d looked at him like the grandson of a duke. They’d approved of him because he was a member of the illustrious Colchester family. And Nicole had known too. Known and kept it from him.
He sank onto the chair next to the table and pressed a hand over his eyes. She was just like his grandfather and everyone else on his mother’s side of the family. Nicole had pretended not to care about family ties or the ton. She’d even agreed with him when he’d made the case that they didn’t need any of the expensive wedding gifts they’d received from her family.
Light footsteps on the stairs told him Nicole was on her way up. He forced himself to release the tension in his muscles and breathe. He would not jump to conclusions. He would ask her first. Perhaps she had some explanation. Perhaps her mother had known and merely assumed he and Nicole had discussed it. A shred of hope planted itself in his mind.
But she hadn’t denied it. Not only had she admitted to it, she’d tried to blame him as if he had some obligation to claim a family he’d purposely disowned. She’d gone on to admit she’d been keeping another secret from him. The one where she was regularly risking her life by working with the Bow Street Runners. When he considered the two secrets together, he realized what a sneak she was. Why the hell had she failed to mention that important piece of news to him?
In those moments, Mark had realized he had no idea whom he’d married. He had allowed his overwhelming attraction to Nicole Huntington to blind him to all the reasons they were not a good match. He’d been a damn fool, consumed with lust. Not love. How could he love someone who wasn’t honest with him? How could he love someone he didn’t even know?
The next weeks had been torture. He’d wanted to go to her a hundred times. He’d wanted to ask her to—beg her—to give him some reason, some explanation that would make it all right. But his damned pride kept him from it, and by the time he’d determined to go to her grandmother’s house and ask where the hell his wife was, Nicole had left for France of all deuced places. She’d left for France to become a spy. The irony nearly sent him to his knees.
He spent the next ten years trying to forget her. Pretending as if the months spent with her had never happened. As if he’d never even met her. Aside from the nightmare of his incarceration in a French prison camp, he’d been moderately successful at it too … until his need for his blasted promotion had brought him to her door.
* * *
The promotion. Mark swallowed to ease a throat that had gone dry at the torturous recollections. There would be time later to worry about his complicated relationship with Nicole. He needed to concentrate on solving his cousin’s murder. The naming of the heir was only a few hours away. Things were about to get exceedingly complicated.
“If we cannot prove Hillenbrand is the killer before the heir is named this afternoon,” Mark said to the others, “I shall be forced to have an extremely awkward conversation with Lord Tottenham.”
“You think it’s Hillenbrand, not Cartwright?” the duke asked, struggling to remain upright in his chair.
“We’re not entirely certain,” Mark replied, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I intend to question Cartwright again. Neither man has admitted to anything that would incriminate him.”
Oakleaf shifted in his seat and cast Mark a hard look. “Time is of the essence. We’ll have to question them more directly. No more playing nice.”
A swirl of color near the door caught Mark’s attention. He turned to see Nicole and Regina standing at the threshold. Regina was dressed in black again, while Nicole wore a pretty dark green day dress. Her hair was piled high atop her head and she had a mischievous grin on her face. Despite the memories he’d recently sorted through, a pang of lust shot through him.
“Yes, ladies, what is it?” the duke asked, coughing quietly into his handkerchief.
Nicole and Regina made their way into the room, their arms crossed over their chests, smug smiles on their faces. “We think we know who poisoned the wine, and we need your help to prove it,” Nicole announced, her gaze directed at Mark.
Mark shot to his feet. “What? Who?”
“We have a plan,” Nicole said. “You must ask Lord Hillenbrand again if he insisted upon pouring the wine.”
“Hillenbrand did it?” the duke rasped, his cloudy eyes darting back and forth between Nicole and Mark.
“We just need to know the answer to the question about him pouring the wine,” Nicole replied.
“Why?” Daffin asked, his green eyes narrowed on the women.
“Because that’s what Molly Lester told us,” Regina said.
Nicole nodded. “Yes, and either Lord Hillenbrand is lying … or Molly Lester is.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Mark and Daffin stood alone with Hillenbrand in the study.
“So you’re telling us you were never alone with the wine that night?” Mark asked, his eyes trained on the younger man’s face.
“I had it in my coach with me, if that’s what you mean,” Hillenbrand said, his face growing more mottled with each moment. “The butler brought it in.”
“Did he open it?” Daffin asked. The runner’s arms were casually folded behind his back.
Lord Hillenbrand ground his teeth, his fingers clenched and unclenched into fists. “No. I did. Look here, man, we’ve already been over this.”
“What if we told you that Miss Lester said you were alone with the wine and acting peculiar?” Daffin offered, leaning one hip against the desk as he studied Hillenbrand.
“What!” Hillenbrand’s face clouded with rage. A vein bulged in his neck.
“She told us you poured the glasses yourself,” Mark said, pacing thoughtfully toward the window. “That you insisted upon it.”
“That little liar. She’s the one who insisted upon pouring it!”
CHAPTER FORTY
Nicole peered into the drawing room. All the guests were gathered, waiting for the duke to arrive to announce the heir. As predicted, Molly was perched next to Mr. Cartwright, cooing into his ear.
Nicole and Regina had come to the conclusion that Molly was the killer. They simply had to find a way to make her admit it. They sent a footman to ask Mr. Cartwright to step into the next room, where they waited in the green salon.
When he arrived, the man had a puzzled look on his face. “Mrs. Grimaldi? Lady Regina? You wanted to see me?”
Nicole crossed the room to meet him. “Yes, Mr. Cartwright, we did. We, ah, need your help.”
Nicole and Regina each took an arm and gently led him into the room.
The frown remained on his face. “What’s that?”
“We need you to tell Miss Lester ahead of time that you’re not the heir,” Regina explained with a pleasant smile.
Mr. Cartwright shook his head. “The duke and General Grimaldi asked me to keep it a secret until the duke makes his announcement.”
“Yes, we know that,” Nicole said hurriedly. “But we need you to tell Miss Lester and only Miss Lester. We’ll be watching through the keyhole. The duke and my hus
band both know about this.”
Mr. Cartwright’s eyes widened. “You don’t suspect Miss Lester—”
“Please, Mr. Cartwright. We’ll have a footman bring her and her mother here. All you need do is tell her what the duke told you.” Nicole kept her voice even and calm.
“Very well.” Mr. Cartwright’s tone was clipped. He didn’t seem convinced, but as long as he was willing to do as asked, Nicole would not spend precious time trying to explain to him.
Satisfied, Nicole and Regina slipped from the room. A few minutes later, a footman escorted Molly and her mother inside to join Mr. Cartwright. Nicole and Regina crouched near the double doors where Mark and Daffin joined them.
“Now listen,” Nicole said, trying to ignore the rush of heat through her body with Mark so close to her.
The two men pressed their ears to the doors as Molly began speaking while Nicole and Regina took turns watching through the keyhole.
“Mr. Cartwright.” Molly rushed to the settee to sit next to him. Her mother remained standing near the door. “What is it?”
“I have something to tell you, Molly.” To Nicole’s surprised delight, Mr. Cartwright played the role perfectly. “I have to tell someone. It’s killing me.”
“What?” Molly searched his face. She leaned toward him. “You can tell me.”
Mr. Cartwright tugged at his cravat. “The duke.” Cartwright cleared his throat. “He called me into his study earlier to tell me…”
“Yes?” Molly prodded, still searching his face.
Mr. Cartwright glanced away. “To tell me I’m not his heir.”
“What?” Molly’s face turned bright red. Her eyes widened with panic. “There must be some mistake. Of course you’re the heir.”
“That cannot possibly be true,” Mrs. Lester added, hurrying toward the settee to join them.
Cartwright stole a glance at the door. “I’m afraid it is true. I’m not the heir. Turns out General Grimaldi is the heir. He’s the duke’s nephew on his mother’s side.”
Molly’s face was mottled. “General Grimaldi? You must be jesting. He’s no more related to the Colchester family than I am.”
“General Grimaldi, indeed,” Mrs. Lester snapped, spittle flying from her lips.
“I’m not jesting,” Mr. Cartwright continued, impressively convincing in his earnest delivery. “Grimaldi is related to them. It was a surprise to everyone, apparently, even the general. The part about him being the heir, I mean.”
“No,” Molly muttered. “No, this cannot be happening.” She stared unseeing at the rug.
Out in the corridor, Nicole straightened. “Now. Give me five minutes.” She turned to face Mark. “Your uncle knows what to do, correct?”
Mark nodded.
Nicole pushed open the door to the salon while the others hid against the nearby wall so they wouldn’t be seen. “Oh, my. Miss Lester, Mrs. Lester, Mr. Cartwright. I didn’t know you were here.” Nicole closed the door behind her.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Grimaldi,” Cartwright said, obviously relieved to see her. “I was just telling Miss Lester and her mother that I am not the duke’s heir. A fact I believe you’re already aware of.”
Nicole bowed her head. “Yes, I know. It turns out Mark is the true heir. None of us knew.”
“What are you both prattling on about?” Molly’s voice was high-pitched and filled with disbelief. She shot to her feet. “You’re both mistaken. You’re both mad.”
Mrs. Lester pulled out her handkerchief and fanned herself rapidly. “No. No. No,” she mumbled, shaking her head.
“I’m afraid I’m not mistaken.” Nicole sighed and blinked innocently at Miss Lester. “The duke told Mark and me the night John died. I saw the paperwork myself. A unique codicil in the will. It was as much a surprise to Mark and me as—”
“Stop it!” Molly clapped her hands over her ears. “I won’t listen to a moment more of this insane drivel. Mr. Cartwright is the heir. Everyone knows it. Even Lord Coleford did.”
“No,” Nicole said calmly. “John didn’t know Mark was the heir. His father never saw a reason to explain it to him. Mark hadn’t wanted his family connection to be revealed. He’s never publicly acknowledged them, nor they him.”
“That’s madness. It makes no sense,” Molly gasped. “Who wouldn’t claim a connection to a duke?”
“If you knew my husband, you’d know why it makes perfect sense,” Nicole replied, glancing at the door.
“You’re lying,” Molly insisted, narrowing her eyes on Nicole.
Nicole met the younger woman’s stare. “What possible reason would I have to lie about such a thing?”
Molly turned on Mr. Cartwright, her face a mask of outrage. “How long have you known about this?”
“Since yesterday,” Mr. Cartwright admitted, glancing uneasily at Nicole.
“You’ve known you weren’t the heir since yesterday and you’ve allowed me to continue traipsing after you like a lovesick fool?”
“Careful, Miss Lester,” Nicole warned. “You sound as if you may only have been interested in Mr. Cartwright while he was the presumed heir.”
“Of course she was only interested in him if he was the heir,” Mrs. Lester barked. “Why would she give a toss about a nearly penniless mister?”
Mr. Cartwright’s face hardened.
Molly opened her mouth to retort, but a knock on the door stopped her.
Mark pushed open the door and cleared his throat. “The duke asks for everyone’s presence in the drawing room. It’s time for the announcement.”
Molly and her mother exchanged uneasy glances before stomping out of the room together, hurrying away from Mr. Cartwright. Nicole and Mr. Cartwright followed slowly behind them. Once in the corridor, Mr. Cartwright paused to give Nicole and Mark a wry smile. “Seems you may have been right about her after all.”
Nicole, Regina, Daffin, and Mark exchanged hopeful glances.
“Just one more part,” Nicole said, nodding to the room where the others waited. “Let’s get this over with.”
They all made their way into the blue drawing room. The duke sat in his wheeled chair at the front of the room. All the other guests, including Lord Tottenham and Lady Harriet, were gathered there. The will lay on a side table next to the duke’s chair. As soon as everyone entered the room and Mark closed the door, the duke cleared his throat and regarded the room full of people. Some were standing and others were sitting, but everyone stared intently at the duke.
“We’ve gathered here this afternoon for the reading of John’s will, which I shall allow my solicitor, Mr. Brooks, to handle.” A small bespectacled man at the front of the room nodded to everyone. “But first I want to get on with the other part I’m certain you’re all waiting for. The naming of the heir.”
Silence filled the room as if the assembly drew a deep breath.
“I know many of you thought the heir was Mr. Cartwright…”
Nicole watched as Molly’s face scrunched into a hateful knot.
“And you’re right,” the duke continued. “Mr. Cartwright, is, in fact, the heir.”
“What?” Molly leaped from her seat and stamped her foot. Her hands were clutched in fists and her face was a splotchy red color. “He just told me he wasn’t the heir.”
“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Lester glanced around the room, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Molly rushed over to Mr. Cartwright. “Is it true? Are you the heir?”
Mr. Cartwright swiveled to look at the duke. “Am I?”
“Indeed,” the duke replied with a nod.
Molly fell to her knees in front of Mr. Cartwright’s seat. “Oh, Mr. Cartwright, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry I was rude to you earlier. I was just surprised and I—”
Mr. Cartwright’s face was a mask of stone. “I believe your mother said it all.”
“No. No. No. She didn’t mean it,” Molly insisted. “Did you, Mother?” She turned ferociously on her mother. “Tell him you didn
’t mean it!”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Lester said, moving as quickly as her short fat legs could carry her to Mr. Cartwright’s side. “I meant nothing of the sort.”
Nicole cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Did you mean what you said about Lord Hillenbrand then?” she asked Molly.
Molly turned to look at Nicole, confusion sweeping across her face. “What do you mean?”
“You told me and Regina that Lord Hillenbrand insisted upon pouring the wine the night John died.”
Lord Hillenbrand surged to his feet. “Yes, I heard as much, and we both know that’s an outright lie.” He pointed at Molly. “You were the one who insisted on pouring the wine at the side table that night, Miss Lester.”
Molly’s eyes widened in fear and she glanced around at the sea of confused faces. “No, that’s not true. That’s not—”
“It is true,” Mr. Cartwright intoned. “Now that I think about it. I remember you pouring the wine in the corner of the room. Your mother was with you. You waited until the servants had left.”
Molly sank to the floor, her face pale, her dreams clearly slipping through her fingers.
“Molly.” Lady Arabelle stood, her voice filled with distress. “Tell me this isn’t true. You were pouring the wine that night, I remember, but … oh, no, no, Molly, you couldn’t have.” Lady Arabelle collapsed into her seat in tears. Her mother rushed to her side to comfort her.
“Oh, shut up, Arabelle,” Molly said viciously, grabbing the arm of a nearby chair and stumbling to her feet. “You don’t understand anything. You’ve always got whatever you wanted with barely having to crook your little finger. I’m the one who has had to accept second best my entire life.”
A Duke Like No Other Page 24